Reads of the week and imploding dreams

First, a little heads-up on my current state of mind, brought to life by this Pearls Before Swine comic

Moving on to this week’s must-reads:

Lights Off, Diyas On Huma Imtiaz writes for Newsline about Diwali celebrations in Karachi amidst loadshedding

The curious case of Rehman Malik Rabia at the Grand Trunk Road blog wrote the best sentence ever on Rehman Malik – and points out the most disturbing part of the IIU students protesting when the much-loved (/end sarcasm) minister visited the campus after it had been attacked by two suicide bombers.

You see, in a way Rehman Malik is the perfect symbol of the Pakistani civilian government – bumbling, inept, hated by all, and a distraction from the deeper dysfunction that you have to listen a bit harder to hear

Take a Chance on Me? Faiza S. Khan points out how not attending Mamma Mia! (which was being staged in Karachi) has become such a debatable topic

سب کی چھٹی Mohammed Hanif takes a look at what’s being discussed while educational institutions in the country are closed

اور اگر آپ کو تاریخ میں دلچسپی نہیں ہے تو آپ سابقہ کشمیری مجاہد اور تحریک طالبان کے موجودہ روح رواں الیاس کشمیری کے حالات زندگی پڑھ سکتے ہیں۔ کشمیری صاحب سے پوچھا گیا کہ جب کشمیر اور افغانستان فتح ہو جائے گا تو کیا جہاد ختم ہو جائے گا۔ انہوں نے فرمایا نہیں اس کے بعد ہندوستان سے حیدرآباد اور جوناگڑھ واپس لینے کے لیے جہاد ہوگا۔ اور اس کے بعد؟ ان کا کہنا تھا کہ دنیا میں کسی نہ کسی جگہ تو جہاد کی ضرورت ہوگی پھر ہم وہاں جہاد کریں گے۔

A tale of two Pakistans Hanif again, pointing out the differences of life in and out of the culture bubble

Held by the Taliban The David Rohde series in the New York Times was one of the first things I read in the morning all this week. The five part series details Rohde’s kidnapping in Afghanistan, being shifted to Waziristan and his eventual escape seven months later.

Bashar al Assad believes in Syria. (Photograph taken April 2008 in Damascus)

Shadowland A brilliantly written article by Dan Belt in National Geographic about Syria and the man who runs it – Bashar al Assad. Gripping, gritty and grim, it highlights every point almost too perfectly.

This is the kind of article I dream to someday write. As Syria News Wire put it, Shadowland – which the blog calls the best article on Syria in a decade – “should be compulsory reading for every journalist flying into Damascus International Airport.”

Amen to that.

Double trouble

Imagine if this had happened at a Western airport:

Syrian police mistake man for Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad
The bearded man’s distinctive features appeared to be instantly recognisable as he stepped off the plane and entered the arrivals hall of Damascus airport – so much so that the Syrian police, taken aback by his presence, sounded a major security alert.

Puzzled as to why they had not been tipped off about the impending arrival of such an important VIP – Iran’s president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad – flustered officers swarmed around the familiar figure and tried to usher him to a secluded part of the airport, out of harm’s way and away from the prying eyes of the masses.

The Iranian leader, they believed, must have travelled to Syria on the same kind of unannounced trip he sometimes makes in his native country, where he has been known to attend mourning ceremonies and visit deprived areas without prior notice.

His presence on Syrian soil would not have been entirely surprising, since Syria and Iran are allies. But only when word reached Iranian passengers newly arrived on a flight from Tehran that their president was in the airport did it became clear that it was a false alarm.

Read the rest here

Another 500 pages to go?1 ARGH

Back from another extremely randomly planned trip to Damascus (God bless the very helpful woman/my new best friend at the Syrian Embassy and JETT’s 7 AM bus service) and a friend who I brainwashed (and with good reason!) about the gorgeousness that is Damascus. I honestly couldn’t believe I was headed to Syria again until the sign started looming up on the border. And for the record, its faster to get to Damascus from Amman than it is to get to Aqaba via JETT.

Damascus was amazing: I caught up on much needed sleep, wrote incessantly, re-read Maps for Lost Lovers, ate the best shawarma ever, drank copious amounts of fresh juice, prayed at the Ummayad Mosque, and talked my heart out. And I started reading Atlas Shrugged, which was on the shelf at the hotel courtyard,

Never before have I been daunted by reading a book. I pride myself on how fast I can read, but this magnum opus became a challenge – I barely finished 500 pages in 2 hours before I gave up, deciding to read it when I go back since H has it at home. But a couple of nights ago, frustrated that I still didn’t know who John Galt was, I downloaded the ebook and started to read.

About 5 hours later, I finished the book – as Wyatt’s Torch flickers and John Galt announces they are making their way back to the world, I felt slightly numbed by the novel. Being a business student, I did identify with a lot of the concepts mentioned, but the extremes were rather shocking. I didn’t know who to sympathize with, because at the end of the day, even the world John Galt aims to build is never going to be perfect, and the chain of events – Government intervention, forced social responsibility, would begin again. I’ve re-read the John Galt speech again just to let it sink in again. And for the record, Angelina Jolie would be terrible for the role of Dagny Taggart.

Damascus Diaries – Day 2: Part 3

I love random kindness in the Middle East. Maybe its because of the lifestyle I have gotten used to – but people are great with giving me directions or just being incredibly helpful – down to the old grizzly man who was walking down the pavement, stopped when I asked him for directions to Bab Touma, walked me to the bus stop, waited until he found the right minibus and directed the driver to drop me off near Bab Touma. People become instantly warm to Muslims – but being able to speak Arabic and explain that I’m Pakistani and live in Jordan – you can see an instant connection.

My intense Shia experience makes me long more for Iran – Insha Allah, I will make that one happen. Not going to Turkey turned into going to Rotterdam in return, not going to Lebanon will be..?

When entering Damascus, there are all these signs for Beirut as if its just a suburb or another city in Syria. I love signs for cities and countrues. I’ve been thinking recently abou t how Israel and Palestine are not marked in Jordan. I don’t remember how it is in Pakistan – I am shockingly un-knowledgeable of my own country. Hmm..Wagah is marked I think, and thats it.

I really don’t feel like going back to Amman – not back to the whiny nature of some new individuals and the general state of melodrama in my life. I miss the simplicity of life at home with Smokie. I can’t believe I’ve missed unconditional love for a year and it scares me how absent this has been, and whether I will ever value it more than I have now? Will I slowly forget going to bed hungry or looking through my bag for money to get me through the rest of the day? I miss drinking coffee on random nights with E, I miss skipping class to hang out with CQ – I miss the bench and how humdrum my life was. The dream of traveling has manifested itself, but in such a strange way. Sometimes, I realize how lucky I am to have the opportunities I have had as a middle class Pakistani, for whom it is inherently not easy to travel so far away multiple times. Between H and me, we’ve traveled to 8 countries in a really short span – we’ve been lucky to be able to have taken those trips alone and not be fettered by the usual restrictions that many people of our age face. I only wish that I could go to sleep and just rest my head for a while but peace is a concept we are all searching for, I suppose.

I think I fervently felt something different in myself in Ummayyad Mosque – I wanted to be a better person then and there. Its funny how my life and the opportunities I was looking for now have come full circle. Two years, the positions I was applying for and didn’t get, are now being offered to me, and I don’t have the time for them now. Its crazy, but yet somewhat fulfilling to know it has come full circle.

Damascus Diaries – Day 2: Part 2

Wandering down through Bab Touma was fun. I love Christian neighborhoods, and the churches, and the women crossing themselves in front of it. Bab Touma leads to a series of lanes for handicrafts, it sucks that this is tourist season because the prices were multiplied ridiculously. 800 SYP for a string of wooden mirrors? I know one day this is going to come back and haunt me but still. I still bought the toga sandals (score!!!), the gorgeous earrings and other random souvenirs. And I saw Hadi sitting outside his coffee shop, and waved hello and he recognized me! And again – I’m so glad I can speak Arabic. Just sitting at a cafe and drinking Coke – while chatting with the proprietor, who when I remarked I’d loved Damascus, said – ‘yes, nothing – Lebanon, Turkey, Europe – compares to Syria’. And the people at the next table asked me about life in Amman and my job (which I am terrible at explaining in Arabic)

Syria is flocked with tourists but whats funny is how there are no signs in English anywhere. At roundabouts, all of the signs are in Arabic and English though – but beyond thay, the prices, guides in museums – are all in Arabic. the only English signs are from this EU funded plan to mark Damascus’ routes, but beyond the old city – thats it. Damascus is really where I should’ve lived if I wanted to spend a year in the Middle East – the culture, the lifestyle, even the day to day poverty is a lot different than the smaller, strangely touristic expanse of Amman. And seeing Hasan Nasrallahs’s face everywhere is funny – especially after having been at the Art Now in Lebanon exhibit films and connecting the ironically funny mess that Lebanon’s politics have become, to the trade embargoes placed in Syria. I can even get now how Syria’s helping Hezbollah makes sense to them – right now it is the Arab world’s only shot at ever defeating Israel. And while the reasons for Syria’s involvement in Lebanon are a lot more complex than that, the posters with Hasan Nasrallah’s face are everywhere, in small buildings I peeked into, to the stationery stall (how, what, why!?) selling a Hezbollah flag and tshirt. And I’m pretty sure I got a discount on the Hezbollah stickers I did buy when I told the guy I’m Pakistani..

Damascus Diaries – Day 2: Part 1

April 26, 2008 Mid afternoon – flopped into a chair in the courtyard at Al Rabie Hotel
In a fit of exhausted panic, I felt like leaving Damascus and going back to Amman this afternoon because I was so tired of walking. That didn’t really pan out so now I’m sitting here, relaxing under the shade of the vines, and I can bum around the hotel and leave early tomorrow morning

Reflections for today?

I honestly got fed up at the the Ummayyad Mosque with their insistence that women must don abayas to enter, even though I was wearing a shawl. I almost didn’t go – deciding extremely unwisely – but then I turned the corner to the room where they give out abayas and apparently the entrance fee for Muslims is 5 SYP. I found myself in a throng of Shia mourners in the Shia section. The fervor was so intense I started crying for no reason at all. I’ve always said that whether or not I do believe in the Shia faith, the strength of their emotions is incredible. I was still crying as I entered the other part of the mosque. It felt like I finally had time to let go and mourn for my mother’s death anniversary, which this year I didn’t even have time to sit down and think about, in peace, until midnight when my head hit the pillow and my mind filled with thoughts. As I prayed for God to help me become a better person, I wondered whether this is the effect of being in a mosque, or just some inner desire that I haven’t voiced and is stuck in my subconscious.

I would love to come back to Ummayyad Mosque just to be able to pray here.

Damascus Diaries – Day 1: Part 3

Jabal Qusion was beautiful. Even if I was having severe vertigo while being there, it was absolutely breathtaking. I asked a Syrian woman sitting next to me if the far off mountains were Lebanon – she looked at me with surprise and said, ‘no, its Syria..its vast’. Apparently living in Jordan has made me lose my sense of distance. It was so worth arguing with the taxi driver over the fare and his insistence that he should charge more because its a very steep route, while I insisted that I understood that all to well, coming from Amman. What made it more interesting was the busload of Pakistanis who were there too — I am constantly reminded of home here, in many different ways. I was taking a picture of the lane leading to Ummayad Mosque and instantly, a Pakistani family stepped into the frame.

Damascus Diaries – Day 1: Part 2

April 25, 2008
Damascus – driving to the Old City

Random thoughts – scribbled when in a taxi in the late evening

There are pigeons everywhere!

The Syrian President, Bashar al Assad, is probably as prominent in pictures here as the Royal Family is in Jordan. However, its pretty much the same picture of him everywhere which makes it slightly monotonous. Oddly enough, signs bearing the late President Hafez al Assad’s name are everywhere. Every building has a plaque that bears his name. For some reason it feels like Damascus was inaugurated by Hafez al Assad in a series of glitzy ceremonies. Its slightly reminiscent of the plaque unveiling ceremonies that happen in Pakistan on an almost daily basis for grandiose projects that never seem to fully materialize, but I fail to see what Hafez al Assad has to do with one of the oldest mosques in the world, for example.

I got lost briefly today and ended up on a street with a huge graveyard. I don’t know how but I felt strangely brought back to reality. I haven’t seen a graveyard properly since shortly before I left Pakistan last May, I went to visit my mother’s grave. I couldn’t breathe, mingling with the crowds of people who were there to visit their departed on a Friday afternoon. It reminded me of how my parents would visit their eldest daughter’s grave every other weekend in the Emirates – the red gate of that graveyard is forever etched in my memory. The caretaker of the graveyard called out to me – I felt so tired and exhausted suddenly that I didn’t even want to respond until he yelled ‘sister..whats the time?’. I felt childish and stupid – caretakers of graveyards usually fascinate me since they are constantly living among the dead, kept alive by those who visit them.

Damascus Diaries – Day 1: Part 1

Al Rabie Hotel, Damascus
April 25, 2008

1:00 PM
The minute I arrived in Damascus I felt I was back in Lahore. Which is weird because Lahore and Damascus are clearly two worlds apart – but perhaps it is the feeling I associated with both cities, being absolutely away from everything and just taking in the sights and sounds of where I am now. The tree lined neighborhood of Souk Sarouja, which is where I’m staying, is homey and beautiful, and while at times I wish I was experiencing this with more people, I am really glad to be here nonetheless.

My friend Rachel was right – staying in Al Rabie Hotel is great – this is the most peaceful courtyard. The only sounds are of the Friday khutba, a couple of Aussie travelers trying to get a room here, and the staff puttering around. A pigeon is walking around the courtyard. I love pigeons, they remind me of our house in Lahore.

The Syrian border was a fun experience. I felt I had immediately been shafted from my safe, residence card holder status in Jordan to an unfriendly, chaotic (even at 8:45 AM!) border, where the security personel look and act like a movie version of the Gestapo. At the border, a couple of Arabs with American passports were being hassled and I got yelled at for the error on my passport (damn you NADRA!), but I stood my ground and as soon as the official stamped my passport, I said aitekhalafya – his demeanor changed and he said you’re welcome, using the full Arab greeting, and goodbye.

I am just recovering from having been served a huge bowl of fatteh – which is possibly my favorite Middle Eastern dish ever – I could barely make a dent in the helping. That, along with khubz I insisted on, was a mere 35 Syrian Pounds. Score!

3:30 PM
Qasr al Azam, Damascus

The palace is one of the most peaceful places ever. Its touristy, but not in that obtrusive way that most places are. It is still quiet – either its the huge expanse of a courtyard that makes it feel less noisy, or the sound of the fountain that fills the air, but I could sit here for ages. Some of the rooms are absolutely breathtaking – the chambers of the ruler, the depiction of classrooms, or women resting. The heat of the day has dissipated, and I am just about ready for my next glass of juice. Orange, strawberry, lemon, cocktails – all for 25 SYP!!

I had tea earlier in a side street off the Ummayyad Mosque, chatting with the tea/coffee stand owner and his youngest son Hadi, who joined me in making funny faces at the aloof kid sitting next to me, and would occasionally mumble ‘welcum..espresso’ when a horde of tourists would pass by. His father instantly recognized me as Pakistani and we spoke briefly about life in Amman, traveling through the region, my inability to get a Lebanese visa (we both agree that its a rather strange state of affairs there) – and I’m so glad I can speak enough Arabic to have a proper conversation with people, as halting as it may be.